It Was Supposed to be a Secret
by RawrIScaredYou
Summary: The Secret Series has been published. However, it was never intended to be when it was written. How do the characters react, and what bonds have been torn apart by the thief who published it? (contains spoilers)


"I didn't do it! Honest!"

"Oh yeah?" The 24-year-old girl with pointy ears stormed away with her copy of The Name of This Book is Secret in hand. "Well I sure as hell didn't do it 'cause I've got some common sense! And nobody else in the Terces Society could've done it because *they can keep a secret!*"

The man, now 24 years of age, struggled to find what words to say as he chased the speed-walking girl. "Well, I mean, I did write it, but I never intended for it to be published!"

"Yes, and that is so clear, especially with the warning at the beginning of the book, and the fact that the first chapter is all X's, like you knew it would be open to the public eye!"

"Alright, I took some precautions in case it did happen, 'cause I was concerned that someone might sneak in and steal it, which they obviously did! And I admit I did have a little fun making those fake interviews and little extra things as if I were actually a successful author… Hey, I even pretended those illustrations were by somebody else! By the way, what do you think? Were they good? Can I draw?"

"Seriously?!"

"Sorry! Sorry! I just- I worked hard to keep that flash drive protected, and had I known someone managed to sneak in, copy the files, and get away without a trace, I would have called you earlier! But at least no one actually believes it; everyone thinks it's just this stupid little kid's book-"

"_Stupid?!_" She whipped around, stopping the man dead in his tracks. "We almost died! I went into a coma! And you think it sounds like just some 'stupid little kid's story'?!"

"Wha- no! It's just- I- well I mean-"

"Why'd you even write it down in the first place?" She sighed in utter disappointment.

The man returned a guilty sigh. "You know I can't keep a secret. The stress was getting to me!"

"Yeah, whatever."

The girl continued to storm away, walking nearly twice as fast now, and the man continued to follow her. He called after her, but she merely ignored him. He jumped when she whipped around for a second time.

"Wait," she said in a demanding sort of tone. "You didn't write down the Secret, did you?"

The man hesitated. Oh crap. "Um, no!" He forced himself to say. "Of course not!"

She glared at him with narrow eyes, and she seemed to him like a human lie detector. "Good," she grumbled, and proceeded on her way, leaving the man there, frozen with fear and guilt.

Oh _crap!_

He took off in a full-fledged sprint back to his apartment, simultaneously trying to come up with another joke to replace the Secret with in the story. What about the one about the elephant and the party? Oh yes, that one's _hilarious_.

Out of breath, he struggled to pull out his keys and unlock the door. He dashed to his room, muscles growing tired. "What are the chances they copied all the files?" he asked himself as he pulled the flash drive out from underneath his mattress. "Who am I kidding? The odds are never in my favor."

He plugged the flash drive into his desktop and opened the file named "#5: You Have to Stop This". The moment it loaded he began scrolling through the document in search of the Secret. Eventually he decided it would just be easier to use the "find" button, but before he moved his mouse he noticed something out of place. He was already on the page containing the Secret, as it turned out, and right after that sentence, in red bolded letters, were the words, "Thank you Max-Ernest"

He buried his head in his hands.

Oh _crap_.

**One year later**

The first thing he heard was a certain word that begins with "b" and rhymes with "witch".

"What'd I do now?!" He asked over his wireless home phone, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.

"You know what you did!" his old friend's angered voice rang through the speaker. "And I noticed you've got a little note on the publisher's page about how the characters in the book aren't real. In both books!"

"Okay I didn't do that; they must have learned how I think!" He assured, although he himself wasn't very confident.

There was a moment of silence, and all he heard was the girl's breathing. Suddenly he remembered she wasn't here with him right now, and thought it was weird how they had a similar argument just last year. At least then he could see her pretty little face, which she never found to be that pretty. Not that she seemed to care that much anyway, she never wore very much makeup or anything (other than nail polish) unless she was forced to. He wondered where she was right now. Maybe she's at home, on her computer when she happened to come across the book on Amazon, or at Wal-Mart, where she found it in the book aisle.

"So… the second book's out?"

"What do you think?!"

"Crap…" That must mean the rest are coming. One book is just a book, and that's fine. But two books makes a series, and two out of five means there's three more shameful novels to come.

"Well, _Pseudonymous_," she continued, and he cringed. "How many books did you write?"

He paused. Would she be mad? Was five books too many?

"Five…" he responded, expecting her to give an offensive retort to send him to shame.

"… Five…" she repeated, rage-free, much to his surprise. "… Alright…"

"Fine," she said, more firm now. "… Bye."

He choked on his reply, and she hung up before he even managed to return the goodbye.

Within the course of two more years, two more books had been published. The third book was a real punch in the face; not only had the girl called, but their Japanese guitar-playing friend decided to drop a line as well. By the time the fourth book rolled around, the girl had given up on him. No call. No angry meeting. He wondered if she even knew it was out. After all, he had first found it in a book store, surprised to find it had been published a month beforehand. He remembered crying himself to sleep that night, in realization that he had lost the only friends he ever had.

Yet another year later, the man, now 28 years of age, enjoyed a delicious chocolate bar, his favorite food in the whole wide world, sitting between his white rabbit and his sleeping cat. The cat snapped awake at the sound of the doorbell, a noise that was rarely heard in their household (aside from the occasional visit from his younger brother who just wanted to get away from their fighting parents, now that he's got his driver's license). Questioning who it could possibly be- he hoped it was the girl here to apologize, but knew it probably wasn't- he dragged himself to the door and opened it.

"Sign here please," said the delivery man standing before him. _No gloves_, he noted, but it wasn't until after he signed the sheet on the clipboard that it occurred to him that he might just be too young to have wrinkles.

"Here ya go." The delivery man plopped a small package onto his apartment floor and left. He checked to make sure it didn't say "fragile" anywhere; he didn't think that the delivery service had very good service, but as long as he didn't drop a box labeled "fragile" he didn't have to chase him down. After seeing that the box was indeed not fragile, he shook it around and listened for noises to try to guess what it was. Then he checked for a return address, when he noticed there wasn't one. Wondering what it could be and who it could be from, he gave in and tore it open. Upon recognizing the contents of the package, he became sick to his stomach.

It was the box set of what has come to be called "The Secret Series", the fifth and newest book included. He stared at it for a good two minutes, just staring. Then he noticed the note tucked between the third and fourth book. After carefully pulling it out, he read, "Thank you Max-Ernest" in computer-typed, red, bolded letters, just like the message typed next to the Secret.

"Great…" he whispered to himself as the cat began rubbing against the corner of the box.

"Leaving your mark, huh?" The man said to his cat. "Wish I could erase mine."

Then he took note of the fifth book. Taking it out of the box, he realized this was the first time he had ever seen it off of his computer screen. He never read any of his books, and never bought them as he refused to financially aid whatever thief was behind this (and he uses the term "whatever" loosely, as he was almost certain by this point that it was the Midnight Sun). But he had at least skimmed a few chapters and read the summary, as well as checked the publisher's page for more little notes. Except in the last one.

Memories of the events in that particular book flashed back to him, and he had to hold back a few tears at the thought of his ex-friends. Suddenly he felt the desperate need to relive those momentous moments from his youth. He wanted those times back; he wanted to be a kid again.

The man never thought he would read his books; it would just bring out too many feelings of guilt. Besides, he already knew the whole story. But he didn't just want to remember the main points; he wanted to relive every little detail.

He began at page one, as anyone should.

It was a little confusing to start with the last book in a series, as he had to remember what had already happened and what hadn't. But, as he read on, it gradually grew easier to sort the events.

Page 80 made him laugh a little, in contrast to the terror he felt when the event (Cass screaming for a momentarily unknown reason) had actually happened. But hey, he dragged the suspense out to make it comedic by spending an entire page on 3 drawn out sentences then continuing on the next page with "OK, here's what happens next:". It suddenly occurred to him that maybe his career as a comedian would have worked out better had he focused less on knock-knock jokes and more on funny scenarios and describing them in a way to make them funnier. After all, the books did gain quite a large audience, and although this may have been bad for keeping the Secret, at least the readers seemed to think it was funny. He stored that mental note in the back of his mind for later and kept reading.

The little comic section called "The Rabbit, the Cat, and the Carrot", despite how impressed he was with how well-drawn it was, actually made him feel a little bit depressed. After all, the girl never _had_ apologized for anything, and maybe if she had been a little less tough on him he would feel less guilty than he does now. But of course he deserved it; he had it coming all along. He never should have written it. Although, it definitely would have been easier if his pets actually could talk and his rabbit actually did just type everything he said rather than him having to handwrite bits and pieces on paper and then type it all up himself on a computer.

He chuckled at chapter 29 (when someone threw a rock through his window), thinking he took that quite well, and trying to imagine the Midnight Sun's faces when they read it. But he reminded himself that they were trying to send him a signal, a warning probably, or maybe they were trying to knock him out to steal the story sooner, or to make sure that was what he was writing, and his smile left just as quickly as it came.

And that graduation speech. That graduation speech he was so proud of. He couldn't even make it halfway through without his eyes growing watery.

He went over the last line exactly twenty times. Wow. He really did a good job. A few things here and there, but overall it was a good book. And maybe it was just because he had lived it, but he could imagine every chapter, every page, every paragraph, every sentence, and every word perfectly, and in only three hours.

And then he thought he'd read the other four.

Book one was very enjoyable to him. He was rather amused with his sense of humor, saying stuff like "The Title of This Chapter Is So Alarming I've Decided Not to Include It." Not to mention all of the footnotes (they were in the fifth book too but he had skipped over them when he read that one because he already knew all of those little facts). However, his favorite part had to be the story itself. That was back when it was just him and the girl. It's where their whole adventure began.

The second book was a doozy. Honestly before that point in time of which the story occurred he could barely believe he could make a friend, but then he made _two?_ He even remembered saying in the first book, "What is not enough for one, just right for two, and too much for three? A secret." He had thought that he and the girl made two, and that was just right, but lo and behold he made another friend, and then there was three. It was madness, pure madness. But that doesn't mean he regretted having another friend. It was actually quite nice.

Book 3, page 164. He didn't write that.

He read and re-read that page probably about fifty times before finally comprehending what it meant.

"I gotta tell her."

He immediately lunged for his old flip phone and searched for her name in the list of contacts, but it wasn't until he could hear the ringing that he began to question whether or not she would have changed her number.

"Hello."

A wave of relief and shock nearly made him loose his balance and drop to the floor at the sound of her sweet familiar voice.

"Hey! Oh, I'm so happy to hear your voice! It's -"

"I'm not here right now, but please feel free to leave your name and reason for calling. Thanks! Bye!"

That cheery goodbye could not have been more depressing. All the hope and happiness that had just welled up inside of him had been shattered in a matter of thirty seconds. He almost forgot to leave a message.

"Hey," he repeated after the beep, this time much less spirited and much less focused. "Um," what was he calling for again? "Oh yeah, uh, the fifth book is out… and… in the third one… page… uh… one hundred and s… and sixty four… um… uh, never mind. Bye."

He hit the "end" button with his thumb and the wall with his head. Leaning against the same area on the painted apartment wall, he chastised himself with harsh words and reminded himself that even with all the useless facts he'd mentally collected throughout the years, he was still one of the biggest idiots he knew.

"Stupid!" he shouted for the world- or at least his pets- to hear. He stared back at the book, still open to page 164. "Oh, right," he said, completely inattentive to the importance of the contents of that page. "That."

He read over the page one more time. It was a letter the Midnight Sun snuck in there, explaining how they were actually the good guys, and telling the readers to come to one of their meetings. It never said when or where they were, which probably caused most readers to believe it was written by him, since they probably don't actually believe he's Max-Ernest. So where were the meetings, first off? Well, if the girl wanted to be completely detached from his life, then he'd just have to figure it out on his own.

He began with an Internet search, as soon as his incredibly slow desktop computer warmed up. "Alright, 'the Midnight Sun'…" he said aloud as he typed.

Nothing useful showed up. Just things about Twilight and the Twilight Zone. Next he tried "the Midnight Sun secret series". Just a bunch of stuff from Wikipedia. Except he did find the Secret Series website, . That site wasn't much help either, and all it really did was inform him that whoever was publishing these books really liked the profit it was getting them and made another book (Write This Book). The only other thing it did for him was make him upset that someone was impersonating him and his rabbit by writing all those blogs. It especially pissed him off at how well they were doing at sounding like him. And to make matters worse, they had someone dress as him for pictures and interviews. And he could actually see the resemblance.

Then he tried "Midnight Sun meetings", and none of the results had anything to do with the Midnight Sun he was talking about. "Midnight Sun secret series meetings" was his next attempt, just to clarify which Midnight Sun he meant, but that was no help either. How could they possibly think they'd be able to get people to come by not giving a date or time _anywhere?_

He kept reading, with a bookmark on page 164, but didn't find a single clue. Eventually he put a notebook over the page to keep it open and decided to just read the fourth book, in hopes that the answer would be hidden somewhere in there. Nothing. Then he re-read the fifth book. Nada.

What was he missing? It had to be _something. Anything!_

He stared back at his phone. Dang it, why couldn't she just-

And then he remembered.

She wasn't his only chance. He still had another friend. Although she used to be his best-best friend, he still had another best friend who only seemed to be mostly mad at him rather than completely enraged.

The friend he was referring to had given him a call after the third book was released to yell at him for writing it and letting it get published, however he wasn't as hard on him as the girl was. As he found his name in his contacts, he recalled how his band was touring around the US and Japan, and was probably currently in Japan. Since he had been reading all day, it was now- oh wow, it was already 1 a.m. What time is that in Japan? 5 p.m.? Maybe he's getting ready for his show, or maybe it's too early for that. Maybe he doesn't even have a show today. Maybe he's still mad at him, but hopefully he'll still answer his-

"Um, hey dude! Uh… what's up?"

He almost felt relief, but wouldn't let himself after what happened last time. "Is that really you? Or is this just the answering machine?"

"What? Why- why would I leave my answering machine to say 'um hey dude uh what's up'?"

"Uh, never mind. Hey remember that girl from middle school that was said to be one of the nicest kids in class but was actually one of the meanest? Who joined that-one-evil-organization-that-shall-not-be-named ?"

"You mean-"

"Yeah, her! Remember when she tried hitting on you and gave you her phone number? Do you still have it?"


End file.
